


Exceptions Make the Rules

by junko



Category: Bleach, Psycho-Pass
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:16:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Ichigo existed in the Psycho-Pass universe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exceptions Make the Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Note on the MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH: it doesn't happen "on stage" but in the past. However, I warned because it could still potentially be heartbreaking.
> 
> This is story is listed as "not rated" because, while there is no graphic sex, the situations (like all of them in Psycho-Pass) are a bit mature. This is not particularly violent, however--or at least the violence is more on Bleach's scale than Psycho-Pass's.
> 
> Also, I maybe the only person in Bleach fandom to ever write a Ichigo & Grimmjow FRIENDSHIP fic (what is wrong with me?)
> 
> Apologies to my ByaRen soap opera fans. Not only do neither of them appear in this, but writing this story distracted me from finishing this week's installment on time.

“We don’t like anomalies,” Chief Inspector Joshu Kasei said from behind her polished desk. Her fingers steepled in front of a cold expression, “Exceptions do not make the rule.”

Inspector Kisuke Urahara nodded in understanding. He tucked his hands behind his back and ducked his head, a posture of submission. But, glancing up at her through the tangle of blond hair that fell in front of his eyes, he asked mischievously, “Isn’t there any part of you that’s the least bit… intrigued? Curious? Surely there’s a scientist among you who wants to know how this is even happening? It’s the opposite of everything we’ve ever encountered. Doesn’t that fascinate even one of you?”

She made a growling sort of acknowledgment. “Perhaps. But, we’ve already calculated that the threat to the System is too great. I want it eliminated quickly, before the idea of it can gain traction. Gather your research, if you will, but I want the problem dealt with, permanently, before the end of the week.”

Urahara pouted a little. “That’s not a lot of time. Surely, there must be a way that the coefficient could be artificially heightened so that the subject could remain useful--”

She cut him off. “Your suggestion is treason.”

“And yours is murder,” Urahara said slyly, with a wan smile.

Kasei’s lips went very thin. “Our decision is final, Inspector. This anomaly, Ichigo Kurosaki, is already too close for comfort. He drops any lower and we’ll have a real problem on our hands. How exactly would you propose to explain to society that an Enforcer must be freed because his criminal coefficient is no longer high enough?”

Urahara’s only answer was a sigh and, “I still say it’s a waste. Think of the science.”

She feigned a sudden interest in the holo-projections on her desk. “Next week you will bring me a report of Kurosaki’s tragic, heroic death in the line of duty. Either that, or an accident will have to be arranged. That is all, Inspector.”

#

The sensation of being targeted crawled up Ichigo’s spine. He was in the middle of sparring practice, but he turned away from the fight for a second to check the door. Sure enough, there was Inspector Urahara, pointing that fucking Dominator at him.

Again.

Ichigo turned his attention back to defeating his opponent. “You must really like what you see in there, given how often you point that thing at me. Does my crime coefficient turn you on or something?”

“It does, a little,” Urahara admitted with an odd sort of creepy smile, as he lowered the weapon. “You’re such a study in contrast to our Mr. Jeagerjaques.”

Ichigo landed a hard kick to the attacker’s solar plexus. When the body hit the wall, it shorted out. The hologram of Grimmjow Jeagerjaques’s face faded to the blank robotic template. “I should fucking hope so. Grimmjow’s a stone cold killer.”

“While you, technically, have yet to commit a single crime,” Urahara said, thoughtfully. He tucked the Dominator away and leaned against the doorframe, watching as Ichigo pulled a towel from the rack. “You were merely rated at an early age as extremely likely to. In fact, you had one of the highest innate criminal coefficients ever recorded, at that age, at any rate.”

“Yep,” Ichigo said, frowning at the still spasming robot. Cripes, he’d broken another one. “Black as midnight, that’s what they told me.”

Urahara seemed to want more of a comment from him, but it wasn’t exactly a fond memory: being ripped from his mother’s arms at five years old. They’d been out for a stroll, coming back from somewhere Ichigo could no longer entirely remember. He and his mom must have passed a Sybil check point, because, all of a sudden, police cars descended on them, Dominators drawn… and just like that Ichigo had been swept away by... fate, by bad fucking luck--to spend the rest of his life incarcerated for something he could be, but never was.

And yet he was supposed to be grateful. 

The psychologists told him, over and over, that his coefficient had been high enough to trigger a kill order. Sybil had, in her Infinite Wisdom, decided to spare his mother the agony of seeing her baby boy old disintegrated in front of her eyes. 

Truthfully, that part always surprised Ichigo.

Sybil wasn’t usually that thoughtful. 

But, on the other hand, Ichigo had been five. There were the coefficients of the Inspectors on scene to consider, too, perhaps, should the order have gone out to shoot a tiny, orange-haired, thumb-sucking kindergartener, clinging to his mother’s skirts, bawling like the baby he was.

Plus, Sybil must have decided Ichigo could be useful. She didn’t usually get to pick them this young to train up. 

Not that he was bitter. Bitter would be bad for the hue. We can’t have bitter.

Draping the sweat-drenched towel over his bare shoulders, Ichigo grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. “Is there something you wanted besides a some kind of weird science peep show, Inspector?”

“Is there a reason you’ve programmed your colleague into the sparring simulator?”

“Yes,” Ichigo said. Leveling a steady gaze at Urahara, he drank a long swallow of water.

Urahara waited several long moments and then asked, “And…? What is it?”

“I’m hoping to be able to stop him before you guys have to kill him.”

#

Despite his constant training, Ichigo wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop Grimmjow… this guy was, well this guy was… wearing eyeliner? “Are you…? Is that make-up?”

That too-wide, predatory grin flashed leeringly into Ichigo’s face. “Whad'ya think? You like it?”

As they bumped along in the semi-darkness of the paddy wagon, Ichigo tried to decide. “Well, it’s a _look_ ,” he said eventually. “It brings out the menace in your eyes, I guess, but it’s a bit matchy-matchy with the hair, don’t you think?” For as long as Ichigo had known him, Grimmjow’s hair had been a shock of dyed blue, which Ichigo would have thought would be super-non-regulation, particularly given Grimmjow’s murderous tendencies. “I still never understand why they let you within fifty feet of a volatile substance like bleach.”

Grimmjow opened his mouth like he was about to spout some sassy comeback about Ichigo’s own haircolor, when his expression shifted to curious. “Wait. I could weaponize my hair product?”

“No! No, definitely not!” Ichigo shouted, and crossed his arms in a giant ‘x.’ He glanced around at the other Enforcers, his eyes landing on the usually silent Akon. “Right, Akon?”

“Ammonia, is it?” Akon said thoughtfully, “Get those two together and watch the bodies hit the floor.”

Grimmjow was grinning like a madman now.

Ichigo shot Akon a sharp glare. “You’re really not helping. In fact, that’s the exact opposite of helping. Do you see his face? You’re definitely not helping.”

“Depends on who you think needs the help.” Akon shrugged, “If that idiot makes a hole big enough, maybe some of the rest of us could escape in the confusion.”

Several of the other Enforcers grunted in approval.

“Yeah, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow said with a smack to Ichigo’s arm. “Try to remember whose side you’re on.”

“The law’s?”

“Heh,” Grimmjow said, getting Ichigo in a headlock and rubbing his hair. Hard. “Ain’t you the cute one.”

#

The doors to the paddy wagon opened into the electric dark of night. Red police lights reflected in flashes against a glass-fronted, abandoned office building. As he stepped out with the others, Ichigo wondered if he’d eventually forget what natural sunlight felt like on his face. After fifteen years inside, it was already a dim memory, though last week at least some moron had knocked over a convenience store in broad daylight. That kind of crime not only rarely happened, but also almost never required Enforcers--being so straightforward. Their team had only been called in because somehow the guy had managed to disappear where the Inspectors wouldn’t go, down into the sewers. So, it had been two minutes of sun followed by a metric ton of shit. Literally.

Even Grimmjow, who normally had nothing but glee for the hunt, had complained about that one.

Ichigo lined up to receive his Dominator. As soon as the gun was in his hand, he… relaxed. Whenever he doubted his sentence, he would think about how natural and right he felt at this moment, gun in his hand, ready and willing to kill.

Sybil wasn’t wrong about this part of him.

“There’s the expression I like,” Grimmjow said coming up beside him with a genuine, appreciative smile. “Those eyes.”

“Shut up,” Ichigo said, but without real heat, stowing the Dominator into the shoulder holster under his jacket. 

Together, they wandered closer to where Urahara was briefing the team. The whole thing seemed fairly routine, except that instead of a single, lone perp, there were several of them--Sybil seemed surprisingly uncertain about the number, three? Six?

Grimmjow had his arms crossed in front of his chest, frowning. “How’s that going to work? There’s only six us on this team. We can’t exactly split up; we ain’t supposed to go off without an Inspector.”

“I’ve called for backup,” Urahara said. “In the meantime, Mr. Kurosaki and I will go in. The rest of you can wait with Junior Inspector Sarugaki until the others arrive.” Urahara checked his wrist display, and gave one of his girlish little apologetic laughs. “It should be no more than fifteen minutes.”

Junior Inspector Hiyori Sarugaki pulled a face like she couldn’t believe her rotten luck to be stuck with such an incompetent boob as a superior officer.

Meanwhile, Ichigo and Grimmjow exchanged their own look. Something was fishy here. Everyone knew Grimmjow was the best tracker in the entire MWPSB’s Criminal Investigation Department. This ability of his was the only reason Grimmjow had been spared serious re-education and rehabilitation. It should be him going in, not Ichigo. But what could they say? They couldn’t exactly argue with a boss who had the power to tase them. And, despite Hiyori’s opinion of him, Urahara was the kind of Inspector who had flashes of brilliant intuition. Nine times out of ten, even his most oddball instincts about a situation would be the right call.

Grimmjow just shook his head in silent protest and said, “Good luck, kid.”

That prickly feeling of a target on his back made the short hairs on Ichigo’s neck stand straight up. He shook off the feeling with a squaring of his shoulders. “Right. Let’s go.”

#

Twenty minutes later, after they’d hit nothing but dead end after dead end, Ichigo let out a frustrated sigh and asked, “You sure Sybil sent us to the right place?”

“Do you doubt the infallibility of the System, Mr. Kurosaki?”

“Yes? I mean, we’re lost aren’t we?” Ichigo said, turning around to face Urahara - who had a gun trained on him. “Oh.” 

It took several seconds for Ichigo to make sense of the scene, because it was familiar, but yet very, very different. He was used to having Urahara pointing a weapon at him, but the dark, burnished steel in Urahara’s hand wasn’t a Dominator, but an antique revolver. 

Instinct instantly had Ichigo’s own Dominator in his hand, but of course it informed him that the trigger was locked. Not only was Urahara an Inspector, but his criminal coefficient was a steady, even thirty-eight.

Thirty-eight? With a gun in his hand and murder on his mind? Interesting guy, this Inspector Urahara.

Ichigo lowered his useless weapon. Dropping it to the ground with an echoing clatter, he raised his hands. “Is this something Sybil wants, too?”

“Yes,” Urahara said simply. Ichigo thought maybe that was all he was going to get before Urahara pulled the trigger, but, after a long, unhappy sigh, Urahara continued, “We are in disagreement, she and I. I think you should be studied.”

“Studied? I’m nothing special,” Ichigo said, glancing around, wishing he’d been a little smarter and hadn’t literally cornered himself in this basement corridor, with a wall to his back and the nearest hallway twenty yards beyond Urahara’s. 

“But you are,” Urahara said, his voice steady, smooth… deadly. This transformation never ceased to amaze Ichigo. It was downright creepy the way the man could go from giggling dipwad to steely-eyed motherfucker. “No one’s told you, of course, but you defy the laws of nature. Every time you’re sent out on assignment, your coefficient has gone down. Down. Significantly. In fact, the harder the job, the more your numbers drop. It’s unnatural to be faced with the violence of your lifestyle and find it, what? Soothing? A comfort? Either you’re some new breed of sociopath or… selflessly altruistic.”

The last words were spoken as if they completely baffled Urahara. Ichigo’s hands dropped a little in his own confusion. “Isn’t what we’re doing supposed to be for the good of all?”

“Yes, of course,” Urahara said, distractedly. With his free hand, he stroked the short hairs on his chin thoughtfully. His wicked, intelligent eyes glittered from under the shadow of his long mop of hair. “Is that your secret, Mr. Kurosaki? Do you really believe in Sybil’s justice?”

Before he could answer, Ichigo caught sight of a blur of motion behind Urahara. 

Urahara had only a second to begin to turn before Grimmjow landed on him with a growl. The gun went off as their bodies fell to the floor. If he’d been hit, it didn’t slow Grimmjow; he had Urahara pinned in an instant and smacked his forehead into Urahara’s with a sickening crack.

Ichigo dropped and picked up the Dominator. He aimed it at Grimmjow’s head. Fuck. Grimmjow’s coefficient was so far over two ninety-nine it wasn’t even funny. Ichigo flung the Dominator aside before it could switch into lethal mode, and instead launched himself at Grimmjow, pushing him off Urahara with a body slam.

“The fuck is wrong with you, Kurosaki! Let me up! I was taking that bastard down so you can fucking run!” Grimmjow howled as they wrestled to the floor. With a series of hard jabs to Ichigo’s ribs to punctuate each word, Grimmjow snarled. “That son of a bitch is planning to kill you! I smelled it on him the second you two headed in. God damn it, let me at him!”

Ichigo had no words to explain himself. It was just… _wrong _to attack an Inspector, even one that was trying to kill you. He didn’t have time for this discussion, anyway. It took everything he had to keep Grimmjow down, under him… shielded.__

Footsteps rang in the hallway. Some corner of Ichigo’s brain registered the sound of at least two Dominators powering up. He spread himself as wide as he could while keeping Grimmjow controlled.

An unfamiliar female voice, shocked: “What’s this? The Inspector’s report said two rogue Enforcers. This one is not even registering in the criminal range. Are you a civilian, sir?” 

Urahara sounded defeated as he whispered, “He is now.”

The woman gave Urahara the slightest glance. She was firm when she spoke, “My name is Inspector Akane Tsunemori with the First Division. Civilian, you need to step clear of the Enforcer.”

Grimmjow, in confusion over what was going on, had stopped struggling. Ichigo was able to turn and face the young Inspector. Despite the Dominator in her hand, Inspector Tsunemori had a kind, open face that Ichigo liked immediately. He was able to give her a sad smile as he said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do that, ma’am. If you want Grimmjow dead, you’ll have to shoot me first.”

“And here we hit the crux of it all,” Urahara said calmly, as he picked himself up off the floor. Dusting his palms against his trousers, Urahara continued: “It’s your call, Inspector Tsunemori. But I can tell you that Mr. Kurosaki is quite serious. He will fight all of us to protect his colleague. One of us will have to kill him before he’ll step aside.”

Tsunemori blinked. “Colleague? Mr. Kurosaki is an inspector?”

Urahara shook his head. “An Enforcer. Or, at least, he was, until five minutes ago. Apparently, the selflessness of both protecting me and becoming a human shield to my attacker has finished the last of this troublesome business.”

Tsunemori seemed less surprised by this than any of the others. Holstering the Dominator, she turned to the slender, dark-haired Enforcer who stood behind her, “Report the situation under control.” With a lot of authority for someone so tiny, she nodded to the others, “There are still two perps at large. I suggest you all get on with the work at hand. I’ll finish up here.”

Sharp bows and a chorus of “Yes, ma’am!” and they were off, leaving the four of them alone.

Ichigo shifted to get off Grimmjow, but made sure that his body still blocked any clean line of fire. He gave a Grimmjow a warning look, since ‘finish’ was hardly a safe sounding word for either of them. For once, Grimmjow cooperated, following Ichigo's lead. He pulled himself up to a seated position and leaned his back against the wall, in that way he had that seemed at once relaxed and wary--like the studied languidness of a panther.

Ichigo knelt so that he could use the bulk of his body to keep Grimmjow shielded, and spread his hands so that his coefficient would mingle with Grimmjow’s and baffle the Dominators.

Tsunemori’s brow crinkled. “Is there some protocol for this situation?”

“I believe we’re in uncharted territory, Inspector,” Urahara drawled.

Her eyes seemed to note the revolver that had been kicked into the corner. “Are we?” she asked mildly. “What was Sybil’s plan here?”

“Fucking murder,” Grimmjow snarled. “Probably a goddamn two-fer.”

“Just so,” Urahara admitted unabashedly.

Tsunemori covered her shock with sudden determination. Ichigo watched her fists curl at her side and her posture straighten. “If you’re Mr. Kurosaki’s inspector, then I don’t suppose I need to tell you that this man is too decent to be wasted just because he refuses to fit a mold.”

“No, you don’t,” Urahara said quietly. “I’ve long known Mr. Kurosaki to be an honorable man.”

Everybody looked at Ichigo then, who shrugged. It wasn’t like he tried to be anything other than who he was. Grimmjow muttered something that sounded like, “Pussy,” which Ichigo ignored. Enforcers had been calling Ichigo names like that since he was ten.

Inspector Tsunemori bit her lip, considering.

Urahara pulled on a lock of his hair as though trying to hide his face with it, and said, “Yes, I see that you understand Sybil’s conundrum. It would be nice if we could keep Mr. Kurosaki as an Enforcer, but we no longer have the means to control him. Putting a man such as himself, one who has never known life outside of confinement, on the streets might be acceptable with some coaching and guidance--except for the pesky fact that Mr. Kurosaki has never passed the morality exam.”

“No?” Tsunemori seemed surprised to hear this. “But, I would have thought--”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? But no. Not once,” Urahara said thoughtfully, and then gave Ichigo a nod, as though tipping a hat to him. “It seems Mr. Kurosaki is in possession of what the experts call ‘situational ethics.’ As an example, even though it’s clearly against the law, he would steal bread to feed the starving. And, that’s just a pleasant scenario that one could imagine. Obviously, given what just happened here, he’s also perfectly willing to obstruct justice even in murkier cases such as this, where most normal people would demand Mr. Jeagerjaques’s execution. It’s very troublesome. Particularly given that with Mr. Kurosaki’s skillset and attitude… and, frankly, charisma, he could quickly become a vigilante, an enemy to the state, and a popular one, one that could raise all sorts of questions... and one whom we would have zero power to stop.” 

“Dude,” Grimmjow said with dark chuckle and an appreciative smack on the arm.

Ichigo was getting fed up with being talked about like he wasn’t there, and yet, at the same time, with such embarrassing scrutiny. “So what are you going to do? If Sybil wants me dead, don’t you have to obey?”

“I did try,” Urahara said helplessly and with a little chuckle.

“And the little goody two-shoes wouldn’t run when I gave him a fucking chance,” Grimmjow added, unhelpfully.

Tsunemori’s gaze had returned to the abandoned revolver in the corner. “Is there really no other way?”

“Possibly,” Urahara said slyly. “I have… a contact that could hide him quite well and act as a… strict minder. However, it may be difficult to convince Mr. Kurosaki to trust Mr. Jeagerjaques’s fate to our hands.”

“Damn straight,” Ichigo said, automatically spreading his hands wider to shield Grimmjow.

Tsunemori watched this for a moment, and then surprised everyone with a firm, decisive nod. “Then they both go rogue. We’ll say Mr. Jeagerjaques took the citizen hostage and overpowered us both. From what I’ve heard, people will believe him more than capable of that.”

“Fuck yeah, they will,” Grimmjow agreed gruffly.

“Then we are decided,” Urahara said with a nod.

#

For some reason Ichigo couldn’t entirely fathom, Urahara insisted they stage the escape as realistically as possible with Dominators engaged and everything. Tsunemori seemed to agree, though, so Ichigo decided to trust this insane scenario. 

Maybe it was how the inspectors intended to cover their butts back at headquarters. 

The only wildcard was, of course, Grimmjow. Ichigo almost backed out of the whole deal when Urahara slid the revolver within Grimmjow’s easy reach.

“I hope you’ll consider something other than a head shot,” Urahara said, his sharp eyes locked on Grimmjow’s.

“You want this to look real?” Grimmjow said with a mild grin, “Then you’d better fucking duck. Kurosaki might be Mr. Forgive and Forget, but I saw what you were gonna do.”

“And yet I didn’t pull the trigger,” Urahara reminded him, standing up slowly to get back in position. “I only ask you remember that.”

Once everyone was in place, Tsunemori gave the cue. She powered up her Dominator and said, “I’ll tell you again, Mr. Kurosaki. Step away from the Enforcer.”

Even though he knew this was pretend, it took a lot of effort for Ichigo to do it. Slowly, he stood up. He gave Urahara a long, steady ‘I’m trusting you’ glare and then took a step aside. The Dominators whined almost hungrily as they targeted Grimmjow and, in an instant, they began to shift to lethal mode.

Grimmjow moved fast. He had the gun in his hand and Ichigo in a chokehold in no time. Ichigo did not have to feign surprise at the vicious strength of the arm across his windpipe. Despite himself, he might have made a little noise. Perhaps Tsunemori and Urahara expected some banter or declaration or villainous soliloquy from Grimmjow, but Grimmjow wasn’t the sort to waste time on that kind of foreplay. The gun was up and aimed at Urahara’s heart in the same breath. Ichigo only had a second to slam him in the ribs before he pulled the trigger. The bullet went wild, sparking off the concrete basement wall. 

The explosively loud gunshot deafened Ichigo, but he was sure, if he could have, he would have heard the clicks of the Dominator’s triggers as the Inspectors tried to get a bead on Grimmjow. But, Grimmjow had a clever hold on him and was already barrelling them both past Tsunemori, his back safely to the wall and Ichigo between him and the Dominators. As they ran, Grimmjow shot haphazardly without aiming. Ichigo struggled to keep Grimmjow from hitting anyone, but since one of the wild shots had taken out the overhead lights, it was impossible to know.

Once they had enough distance, Grimmjow released Ichigo with a shove. “You better fucking run for real now, boy.”

“Just stay in front of me,” Ichigo insisted. To Ichigo’s ringing ears, their voices sounded like they were underwater, but Grimmjow seemed to understand him, because he gave him a funny look and a nod. 

Finding the sewer entrance just where Urahara said it would be, Grimmjow cast aside the empty gun. Ichigo was surprised by that, but Grimmjow said, “The second we try to buy bullets for that thing, they’ll find us. Besides, I don’t trust that smarmy fuck not to have stuck a tracking device on it.”

As they descended into the foul-smelling darkness, Ichigo lifted the cuff on his wrist. “Speaking of tracking, what about these?”

“I’ve got a plan for those,” Grimmjow said, “But we need to confuse the other hounds first.”

Ichigo followed as Grimmjow ran them through the maze of the sewer. Then, due to some instinct or other, Grimmjow stopped and motioned for Ichigo to do the same. Pulling a paper clip from the inside pocket of his jacket, Grimmjow grabbed Ichigo’s wrist and held it. In the murky darkness, his eyes glittered as he said, “Here’s your crossroads, kid. You sticking with the plan or does your fucking conscience mean you’d rather play the good puppy and sit here and wait for them to find you? ‘Cuz us, together, is Urahara’s plan, not mine. I got no time to be chained to some liability that’s going to turn us in first opportunity.”

“I’m running,” Ichigo said. As much as it disturbed him, Urahara had made a compelling case. Sybil wanted Ichigo dead. There was no scenario Ichigo could imagine in which turning himself in would end well.

Grimmjow gave Ichigo a little crooked smile and a nod. “I knew you had it in you.”

It shouldn’t have surprised Ichigo that Grimmjow knew how to undo the lock on his wrist without shorting it out. It came loose with a nearly silent click, the lights still blinking. Ichigo’s wrist felt strange without it, lighter… but also naked. He’d worn that cuff for fifteen years.

Clicking the open ends back together, Grimmjow let it drop to the floor. Then he took his own, and, without removing it, smashed it several times against a nearby pipe until it shorted out. 

“What are you doing?” Ichigo had to ask. 

“Here’s the basic idea. To them,” Grimmjow pointed above their heads, “It looks like maybe I handcuffed you to this pipe, and then finally made my clean break. They're not going to get a heartbeat read on you, so they're going to rush here as fast as possible hoping to revive you. While they're doing that, we’re going to double-back, and I’m going to dump my own cuff further on. But, first, we give them a bit more of a chase, ‘cuz my cuff should have a weak enough signal for them to trace for a while. They’ll split up to try to rescue you, so we’ll have fewer people to avoid as we double back again to head off to that address Urahara stuck in your pocket.”

Ichigo couldn’t help but smile at the brilliance of Grimmjow’s evil mind. “I think I’m in love with you a little bit.”

Grimmjow just smiled wickedly at that and said, “I know, right?” He pointed to his nose, “Dark and sharp as steel: ain’t such a bad combination in the end, is it?”

“So long as it works,” Ichigo agreed cautiously.

#

Somehow, it did. 

Even though they were deep underground, Grimmjow had a preternatural direction sense. He easily led them out of the sewer system and into the abandoned subway tracks that Urahara’s map directed them to. 

Shaking the last of the sludge from his trouser leg, Grimmjow gazed around at high arching ceilings and solid support pillars and let out a little appreciative noise, “I have to admit this is fucking clever. This whole place must’ve been built before the Sybil System. It’s completely hidden.”

Ichigo sat with his legs dangling off the platform, wondering if his shoes were worth salvaging. Everything on him stunk of shit, but his socks were a sodden mess of yuck. He’d already taken them off and tossed them onto the rails. Setting his shoes aside to dry a bit before putting them back on, he rubbed his fingers through his hair. As he did, he caught sight of his bare wrist. A perfect anti-shadow encircled his skin, pale and raw. He’d never known a time without the weight and pressure of the cuff, except those few moments when they’d had to replace the one he’d outgrown.

“I sometimes forget you grew up inside,” Grimmjow said, plunking down beside Ichigo. “What was that like?”

“Shit, like you’d imagine,” Ichigo said, letting his hand drop. His earliest memories of the facility was staring at the blackness of his hue, an impenetrable dark square in the otherwise see-through locked plexiglass door of his cell. The shadow reflection of his own face against the black had looked like a twisted photo-negative, a thing he started to think of the Other inside him. He’d been encouraged to check his color, daily, for improvement, but he’d stopped paying attention to it when he realized it would never change and that that Other would always be with him, lurking somewhere deep in his soul. 

Except, somehow, it was gone.

“I remember that place,” Grimmjow said with a snarl. “Thank fate I was only there a week. Those little glass cages made my fucking skin crawl, being watched every goddamn second.”

Ichigo nodded, but he’d never felt like that. Seeing other people had made him feel less alone, less abandoned. There hadn’t been many other kids there, just that odd little, cheerful girl that had showed up in the next door cell one day. She was exactly his age, so far as he could tell, and had burnished golden-rust hair, so much like his own. She would constantly try to talk to him through the glass, even though they could only communicate with gestures and drawings. He would always remember that fantastic picture of her ‘future self’ as a robot destroying the world with rocket boobs.

It was impossible to forget, not only because the picture had been so awesome and hilarious, but also because, the morning after she drew that, she’d disappeared.

 _Gone._ Just like that. They must have taken her in the night because, when the lights came on and he’d rolled over to catch her watching him sleep, like she always did, she was gone. Her bed--the whole cell--was hauntingly empty, sterile. All traces of her had been stripped away, as if no one had ever been there....

As if she’d never lived.

Ichigo didn’t even know her name. But, even at seven years old, he knew enough to understand that the perky ginger-haired girl was dead, executed by the state.

After that, it was like all the people Ichigo saw were ghosts. He never expected them to stay, or be solid in any way. And yet, it was still a comfort to him that they were there, however briefly. Despite the lesson of the cheerful dead girl, Ichigo continued to form attachments to them all, his constantly shifting retinue of ghosts and demons.

With a little shake to dispel the memories, Ichigo glanced over at his current demon companion. “Shouldn’t we keep running?”

“Nah,” Grimmjow said. Grasping his hands behind his head, he lay back with a contented sigh. “We’re waiting for the lioness to decide if she’s going to kill us for invading her territory or not.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” A female voice echoed from the shadows, making Ichigo jump.

Grimmjow glanced at Ichigo, like that was his cue to speak. 

“I don’t know why you shouldn’t,” Ichigo said honestly. “All I can say is that Inspector Kisuke Urahara gave us a map to your place.”

“Kisuke, that old dog. I suppose you two are one of his little pet projects.” The voice had shifted position--closer maybe? More to the left? Ichigo craned his neck trying to pinpoint her location.

Grimmjow, meanwhile, shut his eyes like he was taking a nap.

“I don’t know about that either, ma’am,” Ichigo said to where he thought she might be hiding in the shadows. “But, Grimmjow and I are both kind of fucked. I guess Urahara figured you could help.”

“I don’t run a charity,” she said. Having shifted again, she now sounded like she was directly behind them.

Ichigo's skin crawled in that way that made him certain that there was a weapon trained on him, so he adopted Grimmjow’s attitude. He turned away from her, giving her a clean shot at the back of his head, and shrugged. “Then I guess we’re just fucked.”

There was silence for several heartbeats. Then the woman’s voice, coming from the same place, said, “Tell me why a civilian is traveling with what can only be someone of Enforcer class. Are you a rogue inspector, boyo? Did you take your favorite hunting dog with you when you bolted?”

Ichigo lifted his wrist, certain she was close enough to see the pale, raw stripe there. “Just us dogs here.”

There was another moment of silence, and then Ichigo heard the sound of a gun being holstered. “Okay, that’s officially strange,” the woman said, the wariness evaporated from her tone, “I’ll admit it. You’ve got my attention. What the hell are you?”

“A fucking freak,” Grimmjow muttered.

“Yeah, probably,” Ichigo agreed, hazarding a glance over his shoulder. The woman standing there was... stunning. Tall and shapely, she had hair so black it seemed tinged with purple and rich, dark brown skin. She wore a black skin-tight bodysuit that hugged her lithe form, with a bright orange short-jacket that barely hid the butt of… a Dominator. But, how could she have one of those? Weren’t they all registered to specific individuals? More than that, weren’t they all directly connected to the Sybil System?

She tracked Ichigo’s gaze. Patting the butt of the gun, she said, “It’s not exactly what you think it is. I can use it to check hues, but via some very hidden backdoors our mutual friend discovered. It’s off the grid. Completely.”

“I doubt it,” Grimmjow said. He’d pulled himself up and turned to regard her, “Ain’t nothing Sybil don’t see. But, it’s your funeral.”

“If you’re so sure Sybil is everywhere, why’d you bother even coming here?” the woman turned her sharp, amber gaze on Grimmjow.

Grimmjow lifted a lazy shoulder. “Like the kid said, we’re all out of other options.”

“I can see how you are,” she said to Grimmjow. Jerking her thumb at Ichigo, she added, “But, your buddy there is clean enough to take a stroll topside anytime he wants.”

“Yeah, except Sybil wants me dead,” Ichigo explained. “Enforcers aren’t supposed to get better.”

“How _did_ you manage that?” the woman asked.

Ichigo started to say he had no idea, when Grimmjow offered, “He’s a goddamn saint. The kid’ll help anybody. And apparently every time he does, his numbers go down. Your friend was gonna kill him, on Sybil’s orders. I figured it out, right? So I tried to take your man out so the kid can run for it. What’s he do? He fucking goes after me to protect the shithead trying to kill him. And, then, as if that wasn’t enough? When they come to put me down, this dip puts himself between us, like he thinks he can save me, too.”

“I did save you,” Ichigo muttered in protest.

“For the moment,” Grimmjow said without looking at him. “You’re a naive piece of shit if you think your little stunt was worth it. I’m on borrowed time, and you ought to know it.”

Ichigo had to admit he hadn’t really thought past the moment, how he would keep Grimmjow alive. 

But, he refused to regret it--not so long as it gave another ghost even five more minutes of life. Maybe that goofy girl had made Ichigo realize that there was no real way to judge the worth of a human life, what happiness it could bring another. And maybe, Sybil didn’t really know the true colors of person’s heart, because maybe there was more than a single color that made them up. After all, black was formed by a combination of every color, even the brightest ones. 

It was only pure white that was the absence of any color. 

Most colors were made by combining others. So, maybe, just maybe, everyone had a little bit of the brightness of that silly, adorable girl inside them.

Even the darkest ones.

And if they did, then Ichigo wouldn’t let them slip away, let them be taken.

Never again. 

Not while he had the breath and the strength left in him to stop it.

The woman turned her attention to Ichigo. She must have seen something in his eyes, because she nodded and said, “Right, my name is Yoruichi Shihōin, some call me the Queen of the Underground. If you are what you seem to be, I’ll find a use for you.” Ichigo started to open his mouth, but Yoruichi cut him off: “Both of you.”

“Yeah, what use?” Grimmjow asked with a yawn. “‘Cuz I’m not exactly a mopping the floors kind of guy.”

Yoruichi’s golden eyes twinkled mischievously, “How do you feel about revolution?”

“I’m in,” Grimmjow said without hesitation.

“Depends,” Ichigo admitted solemnly. “‘Cuz I’m not exactly a burn it all down to build it back up kind of guy.”

“Fuck, man,” Grimmjow sighed, with a sad shake of his head, “That right there is everything that’s wrong with you.”

Yoruichi gave Ichigo a long, thoughtful looking over. Eventually, she shrugged, “I can work with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is the end of this, but I may return to this x-over world from time to time as the spirit hits me because 1) this a fantastic vehicle for exploring the crazy morality of the world of Psycho-Pass, which I utterly ADORE, and 2) once I start thinking about where one person in Bleach would be in the Psycho-Pass world, I start wondering about all of them, and I might want an excuse to come back and make this a series of unconnected, but related stories.


End file.
